


you're the stuff of dreams, darling

by mochis



Series: tumblr requests [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Circus, Fluff, M/M, Trapeze
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochis/pseuds/mochis
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is caught dreaming with his eyes wide open— the dream being the mysterious trapeze artist rightfully dubbed as the "Crane".Well, he was always one to follow his dreams, despite how out of his league they may be.





	you're the stuff of dreams, darling

**Author's Note:**

> this was, wow, ANOTHER request from my writing blog. the phrase requested was "i dreamt about you last night", and i had just so happened to watch the greatest showman the night before, so i was /ready/ to throw down this fic. 
> 
> title and overall fic is obviously inspired by the song "rewrite the stars" from the greatest showman soundtrack, which i cannot recommend more.

Alfred Fitzpatrick Jones is eight when he sees the circus for the first time.

His father manages to take an evening off to take his two boys to the traveling circus that had set its tents up in a field just outside of the city. It is a grand night - Alfred’s eyes are wide and the most alert they’ve ever been as he watches a man breathe fire from his own lungs, a woman tame a wild lion straight from the amazon, the trapeze artists leaping through the air without any fear of falling. 

Alfred decided there and then that he would join the circus when he was older. He would be the most fantastic ringleader, with the tallest top hat and boots with a blinding sheen. His father only laughs, asking for free admission to his shows (to which the answer is of course, papa, you would be front and center right next to Matthew). 

The circus leaves, but the glimmer in the boy’s eyes stays. When he is not in school or helping with chores, he is leading his own circus - as well as playing all of the respective acts - with his brother. He is the tiger tamer against the tiger with daggers for teeth, the equestrian bounding over hurdles, the magician making flowers appear from under his hat. 

(Matthew is usually only the assistant, as he claims he cannot possibly throw himself off of the tree in their backyard to fulfill the role of the trapeze artist; this leads to Alfred’s broken arm as he nears the age of eleven.)

As the two boys enter secondary school, dreams of the circus and its fantastical acts become less frequent. Alfred begins taking his studies into account, if only to ease his father’s worries about his future. Of course, the trapeze artists and fire breathers occasionally cross his mind, and in lieu of listening to his instructor prattle on about this and that, he maps out his own circus tents, but he never mentions it to his classmates. There is a certain negative disposition towards the circus that nearly everyone shares, and for the sake of his father, he would keep his childish dreams hidden behind smoke and mirrors. 

Alfred Fitzpatrick Jones is twenty when he sees the circus arrive in his hometown again.

Unlike the first time, he goes alone, wanting to keep the magic to himself. Matthew did not share the same sentiment towards the circus as he did, anyways, and their father would certainly be busy with one of his many social functions to accompany him, so he walks the cold streets alone, the pavement wet from the day’s earlier showers. 

He takes a seat in one of the boxes, as this particular circus was in a theater instead of a tent. The view is quite far from center stage, but he would be able to see the trapeze artists rather close once they began their act. He wondered if he was close enough to touch the bars hanging in the air, but refrained from reaching out and trying.

The ringleader is different - as well as the rest of the cast. The acts themselves remain the same: tigers are tamed and taught to do tricks, fire is breathed into the air, doves take flight from a magician’s top hat. Despite everything being a bit different than what he remembers as a boy, he finds himself smiling throughout the entire night. The magic was still there, an excitement buzzing in his head as his eyes stayed trained on the trapeze artists entering the tent.  

Their costumes are bright and twinkle under the spotlights placed upon them, frills and ribbons accentuating their movements as their tossed each other in the air, hanging on by their arms and legs. It fascinates him how confident they are in each other, how tight their grips are when they catch one another. The blonde is too captivated in their performance to notice a different costumed artist enter the act, his costume adorned with white and black feathers, arms and legs the color of cream. 

He is tossed to one of the other artists, before being thrown onto his own bar which happened to be right in front of the box Alfred was sitting at. He takes firm hold of the bar before swinging his upper body over it, letting himself hang by his legs. 

Alfred catches his eyes as he swings up, and he might have imagined it, but he could have sworn the artist’s eyes widened when they met. The rest of the audience and circus melts away into a blur of gray and white, the only color being the deep brown from the trapeze artist’s eyes and the ebony of his hair. 

“Wow,” Alfred breathes, loud enough for the other man to hear. 

The artist continues on with his act alongside the other artists, and it is through whispers and murmurs that Alfred hears the word “crane” being used to describe him. The feathers on his costume suddenly make sense, his leaps and jumps graceful and poised as a bird. 

Alfred cannot take his eyes off of him for the remainder of the night. 

Once at home, he dreams of the crane and his deep brown eyes, his flight elegant and fluid as that night’s performance. However, in the dream, Alfred is the one catching him, and he is smiling as he holds onto the blonde. 

When he wakes up, he forgets what his smile looked like. 

But he is determined to see it for himself. 

The circus does not leave for another month, and Alfred decides to visit again that next evening. Not for the show, but for the Crane. Who is he? Where is he from? How did he begin the art of trapeze? Does he get scared before performances, afraid no one will catch him should he fall? 

He wanted to know all of this and more.

The theater is quite spacious when empty, and as he enters the lobby, he can hear shouts coming from within. Rehearsal, he guesses, and is correct. He is welcomed by the trapeze artists in the middle of their routine, but the crane in question is nowhere to be seen. 

It does not take long for someone to notice him standing in one of the boxes. A man with dark brown hair tied back with a ribbon calls out to him, “Excuse me!”

Alfred is startled out of his search, trying to find who the source of the voice. “Y-Yes?”

“We do not allow  _ visitors  _ backstage,” the man says, and Alfred finds him to be sitting atop one of the trapeze bars. “Who is it that you are looking for?”

“Ah, um... the Crane?”  The name leaves his mouth in a question, as if he is not sure who he is looking for. “He had a white and black costume.”

The trapeze artist raises an eyebrow, but does not question him further. He tells him once more that he is not allowed to observe their rehearsal, and politely asks -  _ demands -  _ him to leave. Alfred does so, though a bit disappointedly, and decides to visit once that evening’s show was over. 

The blonde waits until the theater empties out of its audience before trying to find his way backstage. There is a door labeled “CAST AND CREW ONLY”, and when he goes to try the knob, he finds it locked. Figures, seeing as the man with the ponytail had told him there were no visitors backstage. And even then, it was not as if he knew the Crane personally, so to try to take a bit of his time simply to tell him that he dreamt about him seemed a bit odd.

But he had to do it. If only once. 

Since the door inside the theater was locked, Alfred opted to wait outside around back, where double doors lead to the alley way that took one to the rest of the town. Which, once the blonde found his way to those double doors, the cast of the circus happened to be heading. Each were out of costume and instead wore coats and hats, bundled up against the biting cold. 

Despite their change in appearance, Alfred could spot the ebony haired trapeze artist under his black trench coat. Without a second thought, he calls out, “Crane!” 

The man stops, looking over his shoulder. Another man stands next to him, his hand still on the handle of the door leading outside. Alfred recognizes him as the man who kicked him out of the theater that same day. He murmurs something to the Crane under his breath in a language Alfred doesn’t recognize, his eyes narrowed. 

“I, um... I just wanted to tell you something.” Alfred says, unsure if the Crane can even understand him. 

The man considers Alfred, then turns to the pony-tailed man to say something. As he leaves to join the rest of the cast, the Crane takes a few steps to close the distance between himself and Alfred. 

A lamp hangs just above the doors of the theater, but even with the source of light, the Crane’s expression is unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“I-I...yes, well, I’m a fan of yours, a-and of your acts, sir,” Could Alfred even call him “sir”? The man did not look that much older than himself - in fact, he looked to be younger than him. 

“So I have heard. My brother tells me you came by during rehearsal asking about me.” 

A beat of silence follows this, both unsure of what to say next. And then - 

“I dreamt about you last night.” Alfred blurts out, heat rising to his cheeks and tips of his ears. 

The Crane blinks, and then blinks again. After the third blink, he can feel his own face warming up. Out of all of the things he has heard people say of him, or the things people have said to his face directly,  _ that  _ was certainly never one of them. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve never - I’ve never dreamt of someone like that before. You see, I have always been a fan of the circus ever since I was younger, but I’ve never seen an act like yours before. I’ve never seen  _ anyone  _ like you before.” The words leave his mouth like water rushing from a faucet. He goes on to praise the rest of the cast, and compares it to the one he saw as a child. The Crane does not interrupt him, despite his rambling and oversharing, but instead keeps his eyes trained on the way Alfred speaks, his mannerisms and gestures. The freckles lining his cheeks and bridge of his nose, the shine in his eyes. 

(He was handsome, yes, but the Crane does not overshare or ramble. He keeps this to himself.)

“You’ve come just to tell me that?” It is said without a trace of irritation or anger. He asks Alfred this as a genuine question.

And he answers without a trace of hesitation or shame. “Yes.”

The Crane ponders this for a moment before asking, “What is your name?”

“Alfred. Alfred Jones, sir.” 

It’s a rather mundane name, but somehow, it fit him. “You’re quite...honest, Mr. Jones. Tell me, why not just tell all of this to the ringleader? He leads the show.”

Alfred rubs the back of his neck, glancing from the lamp back to the man in front of him. “I wanted to see you again.” 

“You can see me during the show.” The Crane says this pointedly. 

“Yes, but I wanted to see  _ you,  _ not the you who leaps through the air. I know I can buy a ticket to see the Crane whenever I so please, but I know I cannot buy a ticket to speak with the man behind the crane.”

He immediately regrets asking so many questions. He was being bombarded with such sincerity and frankness that he felt overwhelmed suddenly. 

“Kiku,” he muttered, his hands clammy inside of his coat pockets. “The man behind the Crane is named Kiku.” 

Alfred practically beams at this information, holding his hand out to shake. They do so, despite the clamminess of Kiku’s hand - not that Alfred even noticed - and there is another moment of silence that passes between them, as if both need to take in what is happening. 

(Kiku asks himself that over and over,  _ what is happening?  _ Though he never receives a response. Not even when he asks himself later that evening, and the months that follow after that.)

“Well, Kiku, I believe I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Alfred says with a laugh, light and warm. “Thank you for speaking to me.” 

As he turns to leave, Kiku speaks out. “Will you come again?” 

The blonde looks surprised by his question, and answers with another question. “To the show, or to see you?”

“...Either.” 

He smiles, nodding his head. “If you would not mind seeing me again, then of course!” 

It is then that Kiku finds himself smiling, and Alfred takes a moment to memorize it. “I wouldn’t mind, Mr. Jones. I look forward to it.” 

They both turn in opposite directions, the distance between them growing until both are where they are meant to be. All the while, they cannot help but wonder if that is where they really ought to be, or if they should turn back and meet under the lamp’s glow by the backstage doors. 


End file.
